


Er, hello, alter-me.

by anaiata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rigel Black Chronicles - murkybluematter
Genre: Awkwardness, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, canon-Harry meets Harriet-as-Rigel, i hate writing dialogue, so obv i decided to write a fic that's based around dialogue, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26813074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaiata/pseuds/anaiata
Summary: “And I think I might be in the wrong universe.”“Universe,” she says flatly.“Yeah, y’know, multiverse and all that."orRigel just wants to brew and, of course, that means strange men fall out of her ceiling.
Relationships: Harriet/Potions
Comments: 28
Kudos: 131
Collections: Rigel Black Exchange Round 2





	Er, hello, alter-me.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosysea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosysea/gifts).



There are two cauldrons simmering in front of her, a low-to-moderate risk of explosions, and a promise of several more hours of uninterrupted brewing. It is, in other words, bliss.

That is, until a dark-haired man falls out of the ceiling.

It says a lot about her life at Hogwarts— or perhaps just her life in general— that she only blinks twice before plunging the cauldrons into stasis and turning to tend to him. 

* * *

Had he been a little more, well, awake, he might have noticed the panic in the boy’s voice.

“... Uncle James?”

As it is, he wakes up to the smell of potions and the (far too familiar) tingling of healing magic in his left arm and a blurry figure with a green tie standing over him. _Snape,_ his mind immediately provides, but no— Snape is, well, dead. 

He shivers unconsciously, and the figure bends over in a somewhat concerned manner.

“Hello?”

It takes a moment.

Then he sits up so fast that he bumps foreheads with the Slytherin boy. “Hermione!” he shouts, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and shaking him, the litany of warnings flashing through his mind and _if we end up together it’ll be okay_ and _where_ are his _glasses,_ “Where’s Ron!? Where’s Hermione?”

The Slytherin boy pulls away from him, rapidly steps backwards, gapes, then blinks and pulls his mouth shut. “... Archie?”

Harry feels something cold settle in his chest. “No, _Hermione,"_ he repeats, rubbing at his face, before he remembers that he’s really trying not to cause a paradox, “Er.. nevermind that. What year is it?”

_If I missed it…_

Nevermind that. He’ll just have to figure out what to do. He turns to the boy, and, for some reason he can’t pinpoint, he looks a little familiar even through his blurry vision. Harry frowns. Someone from his time at Hogwarts?

The boy moves suddenly and Harry’s reflexes kick in, and in an instant he’s pointing his wand at the boy.

… and the boy is pointing a rather familiar holly wand right back at him.

_What._

The boy is looking very rapidly between them, and there’s a look on his face that says that something clearly isn’t adding up. Harry sympathises. 

There is something _wrong,_ here, something deeply wrong that he just needs to figure out. _C’mon, auror training..._

“... Harry?”

“What?” he blinks. “Er, yeah.” Not even a glance at his scar. Hold up. Hold up, _Harry_ and not _Potter,_ _Harry_ and not the _Boy-Who-Lived,_ _Harry_ as if—

_Wands._

Oh, Merlin. Oh, bloody Merlin.

“It’s nineteen ninety-five,” the boy says slowly, genuine confusion in his grey eyes despite the defensive posture, “What’s going on?”

He really doesn’t know what to say to that.

* * *

Rigel pockets her wand— the man really doesn’t seem like much of a threat, despite his auror robes and his sudden appearance— and raises a hand to massage her temples.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, trying to sort out that— that mess of an explanation the man had just given, “You’re from five years in the future, and you were using an experimental method to travel back in time to nineteen ninety-eight, and you ended up... here.” Nevermind why she would ever want to get anywhere near time travel again.

“Er, basically,” he says, glancing at the pocket where she had just put her wand, “And I think I might be in the wrong universe.”

“Universe,” she says flatly.

“Yeah, y’know, multiverse and all that, each choice spawns a different timeline— Hermione’s really much better at explaining this than I am,” he looks a little faint, “I think I might have, erm, fallen into the wrong timeline.”

Multiverse. Right. Like Uncle Remus’ muggle science fiction collection. Very much like Uncle Remus’ muggle science fiction collection, given how improbable it is that out of an infinite multiverse, two people with the same wands who know the same people would meet.

Her life is essentially a series of improbable events though, so she can’t exactly judge.

At least it explains the wands.

(She’s trying not to think about how she might have destroyed the ruse in a couple minutes flat to a complete stranger. To be fair to herself, though, _someone from another universe_ wasn’t exactly on her list of suspects.)

She sighs. “Harry _Potter?"_ she asks, though she’s already sure. Who else? For all her talk of Blacks tempting fate with star-names, it’s always been her. Merlin, of course she’s doomed to have horrible luck in _other_ universes too. 

“Yeah,” he says, then holds out a hand, “Nice to meet you.”

She tentatively reaches out to shake it. “Rigel Black.” Speaking of the ruse… she eyes his messy hair with newfound interest. Even if he’s a couple years older than she is, time-turner factored in, the polyjuice possibilities of having a male version of—

The train of thought is interrupted by an incredulous “ _Black?"_

She blinks, the implications of his surprise catching up in an instant. “Sirius Black’s son. Does he— do I—” _does Archie,_ “—exist in your universe?”

The man shakes his head. “Sirius never had a son. Never married.”

Oh. That sounded… rather sad, actually. She tries to imagine growing up without Archie, without the ruse and his laughter and his friendship and— “Oh.”

She can’t. 

The man looks at her curiously, but doesn’t press the subject. “Can’t even introduce myself in another universe,” he jokes, “I take it that I exist here?”

She suppresses a wince and nods. “Heiress Harriet Potter. My honorary cousin. She also goes by Harry.”

Now that she thinks about it, she really needs to ask her parents about their naming system. If boy-her was still Harry, then.. Would boy-Addy be an Adrian?

She almost shudders.

Then again, it _is_ rather efficient. She has to admire that, at least. 

Still. _Adrian._

Alter-her interrupts again. “I’m a girl,” he says, looking a little dazed.

“Yup.”

“Blimey,” he says, then groans, “If Ron finds out about this—”

“Ron Weasley?”

“Yes.”

Rigel blinks. “Right,” she says slowly, then shrugs, “Nevermind that. Let’s figure out how to get you back to your universe. What were you experimenting with?”

“Er... Runes and a potion.”

 _Potion._ She feels a smile spread across her face, ignores the sudden apprehension that crosses the other Harry's. _Potion._

Looks like she might get her afternoon of bliss after all.

“Let’s move this to the room of requirement, shall we?”

* * *

Severus looks up from his marking, surprised. He’d just felt Rigel— and it was definitely Rigel— exit his brewing room, twice.

_Twice._

He turns back to the essay, fiercely scribbling out a paragraph with red ink. If Rigel appears at dinnertime in possession of all four limbs, then, well, he doesn’t need to know. Doesn’t _want_ to know.

Merlin knows the boy does enough strange things.

**Author's Note:**

> "So," Rigel says, very casually, "You don't happen to have a little brother named Adrian, do you?"
> 
> "What?"
> 
> "And can I have some of your hair?"
> 
> _"What?"_


End file.
